The day was cold and smelled of honeydew. An odd scent considering that fitted place in the sand, but an uninvasive one nonetheless. It awaited nothing but the sea mist and the smell of lavender, which permeated its gentle inhabitant. The wind blown grass which grew round it bent to touch the floor, fluttering about the golden sand. From afar the cottage was nothing unique, but a closer inspection revealed its features and accents which were irreplaceable. With the step of a foot the salty soaked wood creaked and groaned, but never gave. The weathered nicks of deterioration in the rough walls were that of waterborne kisses and had the tell tale sign of age. Shimmers of the tile roof reflected the sun, as the ocean water reflects the moonlit night, in a hazy golden hue. The royal blue paint which lined the edges of windows and the trim of the round abode had remained since the cottage's birth, and had told the stories of those residing before. Stories of sailors, hermits and collectors, all whispered into the blue. And for Emily, well, she had yet to learn what they said to her. She kept the paint out of imaginative knowledge of it's character along with the understanding that it was now hers alone. Thirteen years were her life in this humble place, only half of her life, or at least so she thought. She had awoken in the cottage that time ago with no recollection of her whereabouts, nothing but the smell of beachwood and a boiling pot of water on the fire. Even more oddly enough, she did not spend long questioning this happening, and rather accustomed herself to the lifestyle. The cottage contained fresh food when she awoke, a water well, plenty of books, and a warm bed, and was comfortable to say the least. One would consider it a quite pleasant home, she thought. Emily felt content, and took to her life in simple grace. She felt little need to question but did, from time to time, ponder upon her life. She asked herself who, but never how or why, and for her this was sufficient. She thought to herself that unless anything changed, she needn't go further than a curious daydream into the list of questions that was her life. And for thirteen years nothing did change for the mysterious girl in the seaside cottage.
